


There’s No Way Out But Down

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Jesus is turned away by Gregory after rescuing Daryl from the Sanctuary, the two men are forced into hiding for the sake of Hilltop and Alexandria both. In order to help take down Negan’s forces whilst retaining their anonymity, Jesus suggests something which entails abandoning all they’ve fought for since the beginning of the apocalypse, but may be crazy enough to work—if Daryl agrees with his plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I shouldn't post this without writing the other parts, but I'm too excited not to. The next update will probably be a week or two from now, sorry. 
> 
> Title from "No Way Out But Down" by Graham Lindsey: 
> 
> My shack burnt down and my cows are gone    
> And this old mountain is all I’ve got    
> Well I never had a prayer anyhow    
> I’ve gone to the well but the well was dry   
> And I tried to cross the river but the water was high    
> Now I lay me down on the railroad ties    
> There’s no way out but down 

The truck hadn’t yet stopped before Gregory charged out of Barrington house, his fists clenched and jaw set. Sasha and Maggie followed him, stumbling down the porch steps with disbelief writ across their shocked faces.

 

Jesus addressed the two women first. “He’s fine,” he assured, “it only looks worse than it is.”

 

“Fuck you,” Daryl slurred from his lap.

 

They both jolted in the truck bed once Kal parked in the center of Hilltop. Citizens congregated from their trailers and various duties at the—by now frequent—sight of Gregory fuming.

 

“The hell is this?” Gregory demanded. He whirled to Kal as said man exited the truck cab. “We agreed this was intel only!”

 

Kal rounded the truck to lower the tailgate, then lifted his hands to placate his de facto leader. “C’mon, man, lighten up.”

 

“Lighten up?” Gregory spat. “He’s Negan’s!”

 

Jesus frowned. “I found his cell by mistake—” It was a generous use of the term; the Saviors had Daryl locked in a shipping container. “—and I couldn’t leave him, Gregory. That’s not who we are.”

 

Gregory was interrupted in further ranting by Maggie. “Move!” she shouted, shoving him away. She scrambled up the lowered tailgate and threw her arms around Daryl.

 

Jesus lowered Daryl into her hold and stepped down from the truck. Sasha climbed up after him.

 

“Dr. Carson!” he called. The doctor and nurse, Alex, had stepped out of the medical trailer and hurried toward them. “It’s Daryl!”

 

Kal began informing them of the injuries Jesus cataloged on the ride back. Several wounds had been tended to haphazardly, as if Negan offered Daryl only a half’s worth of medical attention, like it was another ludicrous deal. Barely lucid, Daryl had reacted wildly when Jesus tried to gently lift his shirt, and without any gushing amounts of blood Jesus forwent an extended inspection, but was certain that more wounds lay under Daryl’s clothes.

 

Jesus approached Gregory once Carson and Alex neared. “Let’s just talk inside,” he tiredly suggested.

 

Exhausted as he was, Jesus didn’t notice Gregory wind his arm back, and therefore wasn’t expecting to be struck across the mouth. A hush, louder than any outcry could have been, fell as he staggered back from the blow. His face pulsed hotly; the taste of blood overwhelmed his tongue.

 

“You are not in charge,” Gregory said. He rubbed his knuckles, which were red from the impact. “You don’t have the authority to make this decision.”

 

Jesus glowered. His hands twitched with the impetus to retaliate.

 

Maggie’s shrill voice pierced the quiet. “Help him!”

 

“Don’t!” Gregory yelled as Carson and Alex moved to assess Daryl.

 

Jesus’s stomach plummeted when the two men froze. He opened his mouth and blood dribbled down his beard. “What are you doing?” he asked.

 

They glanced between Jesus and Gregory with wary eyes, then finally stepped away from the truck—and Jesus knew that under Negan’s havoc Gregory’s ignorance had finally won out the citizens’ fear.

 

“We don’t have enough medical equipment,” Gregory said and glanced at Maggie, whose face hardened. “Negan will come here after Alexandria, looking for him. Maybe even sooner. This puts everyone in danger— what would he do if he realized we were giving asylum to one of his prisoners?”

 

“Does that matter?” Maggie asked.

 

“We just wasted half of our resources for you!”

 

Her lips formed a tight line. She ducked her head to continue murmuring in Daryl’s ear, while her hands stroked his hair.

 

Sasha leaned closer to her family. “Please,” she begged Gregory. “We can’t lose him too.”

 

Maggie’s shoulders trembled as she struggled not to break down.

 

“No,” Gregory said. “He can’t stay here. Take him to Alexandria.”

 

Maggie and Sasha lifted their heads, sharing a look.

 

“Don’t,” Sasha said, immediately taking her arm. “You aren’t going to make the trip. Not right now.”

 

Jesus stepped forward. “I will.”

 

The two woman turned to him incredulously.

 

“You’ve done far enough for us...” Sasha began.

 

“There’s no other option,” Jesus said. “Maggie can’t stay here alone. It was my choice to take him with me;. I’ll follow this through.” He strode to Kal. “Give me the keys.”

 

“You sure about this?” Kal asked, passing them over.

 

Jesus nodded resolutely.

 

Gregory sneered. “Just get him out of here.”

 

As Maggie and Sasha watched over Daryl, Jesus went to his trailer to pack a bag. When he made to leave, Alex stood at his door with an offering of basic medical supplies.

 

“It’ll be enough to clean his wounds... There’s stitches, some painkillers, other stuff. We have plenty, no one will notice.”

 

Jesus snatched the kit from his hands. “Fuck you.”

 

“I deserve that,” Alex assented.

 

Jesus shouldered past him. “I don’t have time to talk.”

 

Alex turned. “Be careful, Paul,” he called. “You’re a better person than any of us could hope to be.”

 

Back at the truck a majority of the crowd had dispersed, the matter laid to rest. Kal remained eying Gregory with his thick arms crossed over his chest.

 

“I don’t like this,” Kal said as Jesus tossed his bag in the cab of the truck.

 

Jesus hacked the remainder of blood from his mouth into the grass. “Don’t have much of a choice.”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Kal offered.

 

Jesus shook his head. “No. With me gone, I'd rather have you here.”

 

Kal sighed, lowering his arms. “Something needs to change.”

 

“It will, one way or another.”

 

Kal unsheathed the knife at his hip and handed it to Jesus.

 

“Stay safe,” he said.

 

Jesus nodded, accepting the gift as wordlessly as it was given. “You too.”

 

He climbed into the truck bed. “Daryl, can you hear me?” he asked.

 

“He’s drifting in and out,” Maggie said, her eyes red and wet.

 

“We need to move him to the cab,” Jesus said. “He’ll be fine there.”

 

“Okay,” she whispered.

 

Sasha and Jesus maneuvered Daryl as gently as they could. Daryl grumbled but ultimately remained silent.

 

Maggie kissed Daryl’s forehead, then slipped something into his pocket before sliding out of the driver’s seat. Sasha followed with her own words.

 

Minutes later, Jesus found himself behind the wheel with Daryl’s head in his lap, the truck bumping through Hilltop’s gate.

 

* * *

 

 

He and Kal had parked the truck two miles away from the Sanctuary the previous night. Their recon lasted only a couple hours, but struggling through the forest with Daryl took until morning. They had chosen an alternate route back to Hilltop where Saviors were less likely to run into them, and arrived home in the afternoon. Now, there were was scant time until sundown, and Daryl still had yet to be treated. After twenty minutes of driving Jesus pulled over to give him water and crackers and take stock of his condition. Then, following another forty minutes of travel, he stopped at an isolated cabin he’d cleared months ago on a run.

 

“Home sweet home, darling,” Jesus said.

 

Daryl did not awake, though his chest rose dutifully.

 

Jesus left him in the truck to appraise the cabin, wielding a flashlight and Kal’s knife. Thankfully, his precautions held strong, and there were no walkers.

 

Jesus returned to the truck, slung his bag over his shoulder, and prodded Daryl to cognition. The man groaned.

 

“The fuck’s goin’ on?” he asked, passing a hand over his face. His movements and expression were more alert now with water and rest.

 

“It’s a long story,” Jesus said. “You’re safe, though, I promise. We’re going to Alexandria tomorrow.”

 

Daryl stared up at Jesus and Jesus remembered how Maggie petted him in the truck bed.. His greasy hair clung to his wallow face, almost hiding his slitted blue eyes entirely. Daryl projected the essence of a cautious, feral animal with no will left to trust help offered to him. Jesus suspected he’d flinch from even the gentlest hand.

 

“How are you?” he asked. “I’ve got some painkillers, if you need them.”

 

“I don’t need shit.”

 

“Can you sit up?”

 

Daryl frowned, then gripped the top of the seat and heaved himself upward. A grimace flashed across his features, quickly buried. His chest shook with heavy breathing; he paused before swinging his legs over and slowly dropped from the cab. He stumbled against the door, and Jesus quickly supported his side.

 

“Just a little further,” he encouraged.

 

“Where are we?” Daryl asked, looking around the forest clearing.

 

“A cabin, between Hilltop and Alexandria. It’s safe enough.”

 

Twigs and leaves crunched under Daryl’s bare feet. He still donned the attire Jesus found him in: a dirty t-shirt that might have once been white and gray pants. Both were stained with patches of dried blood.

 

The cabin had but one room with a cast iron stove, accompanying stack of firewood, rudimentary kitchenette, sitting area, outhouse, and spigoted rain barrel. Jesus deposited Daryl onto the couch and dropped his bag at his feet.

 

“I need to check your injuries,” Jesus said.

 

Daryl stiffened. “M’fine.”

 

“At least let me clean them.” From the kitchenette Jesus fetched soap and the plastic utility jug full of purified rainwater he prepared the last time he stayed at the cabin. From his bag, he produced a bandanna and wet it generously.

 

Thick, scabbed cuts ran up and down Daryl’s arms like hard mottled worms, ringed with built up dirt and grime. Obviously they’d been bandaged at some point, given time to heal, or else they’d be festering open wounds. Daryl’s wrists especially were bruised, cuffed with purple skin.

 

Jesus’s gaze reached Daryl’s own. The man gnawed on the inside of his cheek, then lifted his arm. Jesus sat beside him and took the limb gently. He began pressing the bandana against each thick scab, and afterward slowly wiped the surrounding skin.

 

“Is there anything else?” Jesus asked. “I don’t have to look.”

 

Daryl shrugged. “A few stitches.”

 

Jesus paused, surprised. He assumed the Saviors’ tactics would be more sadistic.

 

Daryl noticed his confusion. “They’d sew me up, just to slice me open again,” he explained. “The worst of it happened earlier on. They’d send in some doctor to patch me up, leave me alone, come back and re-do it all. Got pretty uncreative, there, eventually,” he continued. “After”—Daryl’s face pinched—“Negan had his fun, they just threw me around when they had nothin’ better to do.”

 

Jesus had paused in his ministrations, and was presently cradling Daryl’s arm in both hands. “We’ve been keeping contact with Alexandria,” he said. “They’ve been meeting Negan’s standards, as far as I know.”

 

Daryl’s mouth tightened. Despite this, he said, casually, “Never had to use me as extra motivation.” He flexed his hands, to show all ten fingers were still there.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jesus said. “I could have done something sooner.”

 

Daryl shook his head. “No. We’re square.” He sucked in a breath. “Thanks, by the way.”

 

“I was just checking the perimeter with Kal,” Jesus said. “I heard your name when they were swapping guards at...your box. I couldn’t leave you.”

 

Daryl leaned back against the couch. “I underestimated you,” he admitted. “Thought you were just some annoying prick.”

 

Jesus failed to grin. “Nice to know I’m in your good graces.”

 

Daryl snorted and closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged into the cushions. “Don’t let it get to your head,” he said.

 

Jesus moved to rinse the bandana, but Daryl stopped him before he could get far.

 

“Hey-soos,” he called.

 

Jesus turned around; Daryl’s hands danced at the hem of his shirt.

 

“Make it quick.” He pulled his shirt up to his chest.

 

“Jesus,” Jesus breathed, blanching as he sat down again. Numerous crooked stitches crawled over Daryl’s skin, followed by fat scars carved by the blade of a knife. He laid his palm against Daryl’s stomach, marveling at the irregular texture which rose and fell in peaks and valleys atop gaunt ribs.

 

Daryl’s abdomen tightened at his touch, and Jesus pulled away. “Sorry.”

 

Once he finished cleaning the wound, Jesus stoked the cast iron stove and cooked a can of stew. Daryl watched from the couch, his thin eyes tracking Jesus’s every move. Not wanting to outpace Daryl’s shrunken stomach, Jesus gave him a smaller portion. When he ate it without incident, Jesus handed him his own bowl. Daryl measured him with a glance, then took the food with a quiet thanks.

 

Jesus tossed Daryl clothes from his bag. “You can get changed. I hope your shoe size is 11. The soap’s on the counter if you want to wash; I’m going to move the truck.”

 

Jesus left Daryl with with two empty bowls and the clothes in his lap. He moved the truck into the cover of the trees, nudging low-hanging branches to better conceal it. Once he was satisfied he rifled for the pack of Camels he knew Kal kept in the console.

 

“Are you decent?” Jesus asked at the cabin’s door.

 

“Yeah,” came Daryl’s reply.

 

Jesus walked inside. Daryl stood at the counter clothed in a black undershirt, red flannel, and work jeans, wet hair dripping into the collar of his shirt. The clothes were large on Jesus but snug on Daryl’s broader gait.

 

“Excuse me for being disappointed,” Jesus said to distract himself from Daryl’s attractiveness, and glanced at the space between the couch and cast iron stove. “We should get a bearskin.”

 

“Don’t get too confident,” Daryl said, stepping toward him.

 

“Wait till you see these.” Jesus pulled the Camels out from his breastpocket.

 

Daryl snatched them out of his hand. “I beseech thee Christ our Lord,” he said, sticking a cigarette between his lips. “Got a light?”

 

Jesus obtained one from his bag and offered it also.

 

Daryl wolfed a third of the smoke. “Fuckin’ A,” he sighed.

 

Jesus sat down beside the cast iron stove. “We should get some sleep, soon.”.

 

Daryl frowned. “The fuck you doin’ on the floor, man? There’s room for us both, right?” he asked.

 

“I never imagined you’d be so forward.” Jesus rose, toed off his boots, and laid down on the couch.

 

Daryl sat opposite of him. “Just stay on your damn side.”

 

“I wouldn’t abuse your hospitality,” Jesus said.

 

The sky darkened fastidiously as Daryl smoked and the cast iron stove was reduced to glowing embers. Jesus stared at the ceiling until he was sure Daryl was asleep—which was quite soon, still healing as he was, only freed of his imprisonment just around a mere twenty-four hours ago. Jesus left a knife and pistol at his side in case of emergency, then crept out of the cabin. He had another two hours to Alexandria on foot, and wanted to be back before sunrise to at least catch an hour or so of sleep.

 

Stillness permeated the thick forest as Jesus walked, and he only dispatched a handful of walkers. When he finally neared Alexandria’s walls he was shocked to see a caravan of black vehicles already parked outside, guarded by men and women toting assault rifles. Some of them chewed on tobacco and spit intermittently. At the top of Alexandria’s gates Jesus recognized Rosita and Tara watching them closely.

 

He crouched behind the cover of underbrush and listened to the Saviors’ conversation.

 

“He’s gotta be here,” said one of them.

 

“They’ve been delivering supplies; I don’t know why they’d jeopardize the deal,” argued another.

 

“Maybe they got cocky.”

 

“Didn’t you hear? Negan almost got the leader to cut his kid’s arm off. I’m telling you, they won’t cross us.”

 

“Who else could’ve done it?”

 

“Maybe he got out on his own.”

 

“Impossible; he could barely stand.”

 

“Then it’d be someone from Hilltop.”

 

“Those pussies?”

 

“This is your problem: you underestimate everyone. You’ll get yourself killed.”

 

Their discussion veered off topic, and the minutes passed. Then, Simon emerged from the gate with two lackeys.

 

“Nothing,” he spat. “We tore the place apart. We’ll go to Hilltop tomorrow.”

 

As his subordinates bemoaned the wasted time, Simon’s gaze raked the treeline. Jesus did not dare to breathe until the caravan disappeared down the road.

 

He decided to circle back to the cabin without alerting Rosita or Tara of his presence. When he opened the door he was greeted with a cocked gun to the forehead.

 

“Shit,” Daryl cursed, lowering the pistol. He wrenched Jesus inside and shut the door behind him. “Where the fuck have you been?”

 

“We can’t go to Alexandria,” Jesus said, “Simon’s looking for you. When they go to Hilltop they’ll notice I’m missing too.”

 

Daryl contemplatively mussed his hair. “Should we leave?”

 

“I’m the only one who knows about this place,” Jesus said. He paused. “I think we should fake our own deaths.”

 

“Oh, great. Here I was worried you’d come up with a stupid ass idea.”

 

“They’d stop looking for us,” Jesus continued. “I don’t think Negan would want anyone else to take your place, either. Like you said—he had his fun. Your people are keeping up their end of the bargain, he doesn’t need any more leverage.”

 

“And we’ll just diddle-dally all goddamn day, everyone thinking they’ve lost us, too?” Daryl asked, scowling.

 

Jesus thought back to Maggie and Sasha’s sorrow at Glenn and Abraham’s fate—and their relief at Daryl’s safe return.

 

“It’s not just that,” Jesus said. “If we’re dead, they won’t expect us. We have the element of surprise.”

 

“To do what? Charge in and take 'em out?” Daryl put his hands on his hips.

 

When Jesus did not correct his assumption, Daryl’s composure flagged and he began pacing the length of the small room.

 

“So what you’re telling me is you wanna play dead and become fuckin’ bounty hunters,” he said.

 

“Well if you say anything like that it’ll sound stupid,” Jesus defended. “We’ll only target small groups; pick them off one by one.”

 

“You’re crazy, man,” Daryl said.

 

“Negan took you for a reason,” Jesus reminded. He stepped toward Daryl, hands outstretched. “He’s scared of you. He knows what you’re capable of. If he thinks you’re somewhere alive, he’ll become cautious. If he thinks you’re dead, he’ll lower his guard. It’s that simple.”

 

“It’s never that simple,” Daryl countered.

 

“Just have a little faith,” Jesus implored. “You’d be surprised at the miracles I’m capable of.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Jesus and Daryl went over the contingencies of Jesus’s plan after a canned breakfast.

 

“Assuming we go through with this, how are we goin’ to prove we’re dead?” Daryl asked.

 

Jesus suddenly remembered. “Maggie gave you something when I brought you to Hilltop.”

 

Daryl blinked. “That wasn’t a dream?”

 

“No,” Jesus said, understanding the disbelief coloring Daryl’s face. “She didn’t want to leave you.” He went to the kitchenette, where Daryl’s previous outfit lay crumpled on the floor, and pulled a gold crucifix necklace from its pocket.

 

Daryl walked over and marveled at the necklace, holding it in his palm.

 

Jesus softened his voice. “We’ll dress up some walkers, bash their faces, and drop them off at Hilltop with the necklace. Maggie can confirm only you’d have it.”

 

Daryl closed his fist around the cross. “She gave this to me.”

 

“And you’ll get it back,” Jesus assured. “Kal’s a guard; I’ll signal him down, and explain the situation. He helped you escape, remember? He can make sure everyone stays in line. And that Maggie keeps this safe.”

 

“We can’t tell her the truth,” Daryl stated. “Or Sasha.”

 

“No,” Jesus said, regretfully.

 

Daryl looked up. “If you tell somebody at Hilltop, I want someone from Alexandria to know.” Before Jesus could speak, he said, “To keep everyone in line, right? To make sure we can do what we have to do.”

 

“That’s only fair,” Jesus assented.

 

Daryl turned away. “I still haven’t said yes. I’m having a smoke.” He opened the door and sat on the front steps.

 

“What’s the alternative?” Jesus asked behind him. “The Saviors are going to Hilltop. Gregory could tell them I was the one who broke you out, and then Negan would be looking for us both. If we went back, we’d only be putting our communities in danger; they ransacked Alexandria looking for you.”

 

Daryl stiffened. “Nobody was hurt?”

 

“No. But it may just be a matter of time. Even if everyone else was safe, he’d still want to get to us. Your people—your family,” Jesus corrected, “wouldn’t stand for that. It’d only make tensions worse. This is the best option we have, for everyone’s sake.”

 

Daryl sighed, and rolled his cigarette between his fingers.

 

Jesus sat down next to him. The surrounding trees were yellowing with autumn’s arrival.

 

“We have to decide right now,” Jesus said. “I can’t do this without you.”

 

Daryl shifted so he faced Jesus fully. “You’re right,” he said, “you can’t.” He huffed. “Better find that bearskin rug for all the ass-kissing you’ll owe me after this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Shortly thereafter Daryl and Jesus prepared to go to Hilltop, holstering a knife and gun apiece.

 

“I can cut the sleeves, if you’d like,” Jesus said, referring to Daryl’s flannel.

 

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “Nah. There’s a bit of a breeze out today.”

 

Jesus lifted his hands. “Only keeping your needs in mind.”

 

“Thoughtful.”

 

“How’s your,” Jesus gestured to Daryl’s torso, “everything?”

 

“I’ll live.”

 

“We should bandage it, at least,” Jesus said.

 

Daryl shucked his flannel and plopped down on the couch. “Let’s get to it.”

 

Jesus unrolled the last of the gauze in Alex’s kit. “This nurse thing is reoccurring,” he mused.

 

Daryl turned so his back faced the wall, and held one end of the gauze against his side. He didn’t reply, looking at the floor with his overgrown hair covering half of his face.

 

Jesus taped the bandages quickly. “All set,” he said.

 

Daryl stood and put his flannel back on, then wordlessly strode to the door.

 

Jesus emptied his bag, refilled it with Daryl’s Sanctuary outfit and his trench coat, and they began trekking through the forest. For all his gruff and grit, Daryl moved through wilderness with a nimble grace. Jesus stayed a few paces behind, watching Daryl respond to minutiae Jesus never would have noticed himself, such as birdsong, animals’ calls, and the whispers of distant bodies of water.

 

“There’s a creek,” Daryl murmured, lifting a hand, “down west a bit. We’ll catch some fish. I ain’t eating your beans and stew every day.”

 

His gravelly Southern drawl accentuated their surroundings. “Okay,” Jesus said, not wanting to disrupt the synchronicity.

 

Daryl glanced over his shoulder before moving onward.

 

“I’ll set up some rabbit traps, too,” he continued, “maybe we’ll get lucky.”

 

Walker moans echoed yards away and the two men stopped. Daryl scanned the trees, and Jesus wondered how many anomalies his trained eyes could pick up.

 

“There,” Daryl said, unsheathing his knife.

 

Jesus saw two walkers amble toward them from the east. They were each male, middle-aged, with long dark hair. Before he could act, Daryl swiftly took them out.

 

“These the lucky ones?” Daryl asked. He kicked them over so they faced the sky.

 

“Good enough,” Jesus said. “If we fuck up their faces, no one would be able to tell.”

 

“Fine,” Daryl grunted. He held out a hand, and Jesus passed him his old clothes.

 

Once the walkers were trussed, they fireman carried them the rest of the distance to Hilltop’s outer perimeter. If Daryl’s pains increased, he didn’t show it as he dropped his walker onto the ground.

 

“Go get your buddy,” he instructed, picking up a hefty rock, “I’ll take care of these two's makeup.”

 

Jesus crept to the treeline beside Hilltop’s walls. The sun had lifted upward during their walk, signaling it was afternoon, the time of Kal’s watch shift. He currently patrolled the scaffolding tucked behind Hilltop’s eastern flank. Jesus paused, listening for a familiar voice, particularly Maggie’s, Sasha’s, or Gregory’s. He wondered if they thought Daryl had made it to Alexandria safely, or received the news of Simon’s appearance. Kal didn’t seem overly stressed in his disposition, so Jesus assumed the Saviors hadn’t yet paid Hilltop a visit.

 

He fished in the underbrush for pebbles, and tossed one high at the wall. Kal halted, scrutinizing the trees. His eyes widened when Jesus shuffled into view and gestured for him to quietly come down. Kal nodded, and Jesus turned back to meet Daryl.

 

“You hear that?” he heard Kal ask. “Might be some roamers. I’ll go check it out...”

 

Squatted beside the wrecked walkers, Daryl looked up from wiping gore off of his knife in the dirt as Jesus neared. “Kal’s on his way,” Jesus announced.

 

Kal joined them minutes later, and Jesus explained their plan.

 

“This is insane,” Kal said, peering down at Daryl’s handiwork.

 

“I told him,” Daryl muttered.

 

Jesus implored Kal. “That’s why we’re asking you for help. Everyone will believe you.” He unsheathed the knife Kal gave him. “I’ll leave this, and Daryl has something from Maggie.”

 

Kal shook his head. “What if shit goes wrong, huh? What if Negan thinks we’re the ones picking off his people, or he blames Alexandria?”

 

“I’m talking to a guy named Aaron there,” Daryl said, taking a glance at Jesus, “he can be trusted.”

 

“We’ll be careful,” Jesus ensured. “There’s a creek between here and Alexandria, to the west...”

 

Daryl guffawed. “That’s just what we need, you fuckin’ James Bond. A rendezvous point.”

 

“But you’d hear it,” Jesus insisted, “it’s not hard to find.”

 

Daryl relented. “Not if you paid attention, no.” He gave Kal a critical look, as if sizing up his ability to do such.

 

“If something happens, leave a message there,” Jesus instructed Kal. “We’ll do the same.”

 

“Aaron, too,” Daryl added.

 

Kal sighed and stared through the forest, in the direction Hilltop lay.

 

“If you need extra motivation, I can give you a blow job,” Jesus offered. “Just close your eyes.”

 

“Oh my God,” said Daryl. He moved away and began smoking.

 

Kal glared at Jesus, then broke out in laughter. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, man.” He waved at the walkers. “Leave your alibis, I’ll drag them back after tomorrow’s run.”

 

“I could kiss you,” Jesus gushed, and stepped over the corpses to take Kal’s face and peck him on the lips.

 

Kal wiped his mouth, chuckling. “Alright, alright.”

 

Meanwhile, Daryl knelt down at the side of his dead doppelganger. He pulled Maggie’s necklace from his pocket; the gold chain glinted in the afternoon light against his tough, dirtied skin, and closed his fingers around the necklace once before slipping it into the walker’s pants.

 

As Daryl leaned against a tree, Jesus relinquished Kal’s knife to his own walker lookalike and finished speaking with his friend, who bid them both good luck before returning to his post.

 

“You could at least wait until he’s left to start smoking the man’s cigarettes,” Jesus said as they began walking.

 

Daryl removed the cigarette he’d lit from his lips. “It won’t be a problem, soon. You’ll owe me a damn lifetime supply.”

 

“Right after I kiss your ass, right?”

 

“’Course.”

 

Jesus smiled to himself as Daryl hiked forward.

 

* * *

 

 

Back in the cabin, Daryl sat on the couch while Jesus laid out a map on the floor and began marking the boundaries of Hilltop, Alexandria, and routes therein.

 

“The Saviors come through here for pickups,” he showed, then circled a large portion of land to the east. “This is the Sanctuary.” He marked an X at the cabin’s western location, along with the creek Kal and Aaron would utilize. “And here we are.”

 

Daryl leaned down, elbows on his knees.

 

Jesus drew arrows sprouting from the Sanctuary. “Smaller groups patrol everywhere, looking for newcomers.” He looked up at Daryl. “They’re the ones we’ll target.”

 

“And how’re we gonna do that, slick?” Daryl asked.

 

“It’ll have to look like an accident.” Jesus capped his marker and sighed. “I don’t know, exactly. We can’t have them suspect anything for as long as possible.”

 

“Define accident,” Daryl said.

 

Jesus shrugged. “Falling down a ravine, getting in trouble with walkers. We have to leave the bodies, construct some kind of story that’s believable. If corpses are disappearing, Negan’ll know it’s foul play.”

 

Daryl sat back and ruminated him. “It’ll be dirty work, pal.”

 

“I know,” Jesus said, “I can do it. Can you?”

 

Daryl crossed his arms. “Yeah. I can.”

 

“Alright then.”

 

They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Daryl chewed at a hangnail on the side of his thumb, and Jesus flipped the marker between his fingers.

 

Suddenly, Daryl shifted forward and squinted at Jesus.

 

“What?” Jesus asked.

 

“You sure nobody saw you when you busted me out?”

 

Jesus frowned. “Yes.”

 

“What about that hair of yours?”

 

His brow furrowed. “What about it?”

 

“No offense, but it sounds like you’re the only one from Hilltop with half a brain,” Daryl said. “Even if they don’t know what you did, you’ll be recognized, ‘n so will I. If we wanna stay _incognito,_ that can’t happen.”

 

Jesus stared at him, then tossed his head back and laughed. “Let’s go find a barber shop, man, of course.”

 

“I’m serious,” Daryl snapped. He rose and rummaged through Jesus’s bag. “You got any razors in here or somethin’?”

 

Before Jesus could reply, he tossed the pack down and moved onto the kitchenette cupboards.

 

Jesus watched him amusedly. “I don’t think—”

 

“Ha!” Daryl proudly held up a pair of scissors and dusty box of razorblades and kicked the cupboard shut, then grabbed the jug of water and soap. “Let’s go outside.”

 

They sat on the stoop of the cabin. Jesus fidgeted uneasily and Daryl spotted his hesitation. “Don’t worry, Hey-soos,” he said, “I’ll still know you’re a hippie fuck.” He took off his flannel, leaned forward, and doused his head in water. Jesus watched as Daryl gathered clumps of hair and cut them at the root; the dark locks fell at their feet and across the steps. When Daryl was finished, he lathered soap into the last of his hair and began shaving it as best he could from his hairline back.

 

While he worked, Jesus picked up his flannel and took the cigarettes and lighter from his breastpocket.

 

“Didn’t think you smoked,” Daryl said.

 

“Only on special occasions,” Jesus replied and lit up.

 

“Well, Merry Christmas.”

 

Jesus leaned back against the steps. Blood trickled down Daryl’s neck where he nicked his scalp, and soon he moved onto his wiry facial hair, then poured water into his cupped hand and rinsed himself off. When he finally turned around, he looked totally transformed—tougher and meaner than before, but stripped down as well.

 

“One to ten, how bad is it?” he asked.

 

“Eleven,” Jesus said, “like a demented Humpty Dumpty.”

 

Daryl stole his cigarette and took a drag. “I’m economizing,” he said at Jesus’s affronted glare, and stood to swap places. “Your turn.”

 

“Um,” said Jesus.

 

Daryl scoffed and sat back down. “Alright. C’mere, Rapunzel.” He patted the spot beside him.

 

Jesus shuffled forward and Daryl stared at him for a moment.

 

“I’ve been growing it for years,” Jesus said. “Since before everything.”

 

“Yeah? Me too.” Daryl snubbed the unfinished cigarette and tucked it back in the carton. “That’s the nice thing about hair. It always grows back.”

 

Jesus bent at the waist and closed his eyes. It was disorienting to see his hair drop below him chunk by chunk. Weight lifted off his skull as the minutes passed. Daryl’s fingers were massaging soap into his scalp sooner than he realized, and Jesus became minutely aware how Daryl’s chest curled over his side.

 

“Sit up,” Daryl muttered. Jesus complied.

 

The two men were centimeters apart. Jesus shivered once the cold razor touched his forehead. Daryl raked the blade back in uneven stripes, loose hairs piling on Jesus’s shoulders. Jesus closed his eyes, surrendering to the scratchy sensation, Daryl’s smokey musk, and the sound of their breath. Pinpricks of pain stung across his head, leaking thin lines of blood. Daryl palmed Jesus’s jaw to shave his thick beard.

 

Jesus opened his eyes once Daryl finished. “How bad, one to ten?” he asked.

 

Daryl leaned side to side. “Twelve,” he said.

 

* * *

 

They traveled to Alexandria the next day. Aaron was shocked at the sight of Jesus, and Daryl even moreso. It took as much convincing as it had with Kal, but once Jesus left to give him and Daryl privacy, Aaron eventually agreed to their system—and swore himself to secrecy.

 

“Even Eric,” Daryl emphasized.

 

Aaron grimaced. “Daryl—”

 

“I’m serious, man.” Daryl said. “This is strictly need to know. Some covert affairs shit.”

 

“Okay, I got it.” Aaron sighed. “I don't like that Hilltop guy.”

 

Daryl shrugged. “Yeah, well. He got me out, and he's been right about some stuff. I'll be careful.” Aaron still didn't look pleased. “Hey,” Daryl said, “don't worry. I'll be fine. Alright?”

 

“I know you'll be alright,” Aaron said, “but what about the rest of us? You didn't see them when they came back—any of them. They're broken. They've reached their limits. When they said you were taken, Eric and I didn't know what to do. Eric wanted to barge down the place himself to find you. To tell them you're dead and knowing it's not true—to let them live through that all over again...” Aaron shook his head. “I hope you know what you're doing, Daryl. I hope it's worth the cost.”

 

Moments later, Daryl emerged from the clearing he and Aaron had moved to, and Jesus rose from the log he sat on.

 

“Everything okay?” he asked.

 

“Yeah.” Daryl trucked onward without a passing glance.

 

Jesus glanced in Alexandria's direction, wondering what'd been discussed. “This is best for everyone,” he said, quickening to Daryl's pace. “Later on, when we tell the truth, they'll understand—”

 

“You don't fuckin' get it, do you?” Daryl halted and whirled around, forcing Jesus to step back. “This is just some plan to you, right? Another trick up your sleeve to pull? I don't know about you, with your Jesus getup and your fuckin' hero complex bullshit, but I have an actual family! A family who just lost two people, and now they're losing somebody else. At least most of us died _human_ —but to drop a walker at their feet, to make them think I _turned_? It's sick, man! It's sick.”

 

Daryl's chest heaved, and he turned away to wipe his face.

 

“I don't want to hear shit from you about my family understanding this,” Daryl said. “Your Hilltop folks may be cool with it, but I'm breaking trust I've been building for years here. The only trust I've ever had—and I'm just throwing it away for your fuckin' crazy ass logic. I don't know if any of 'em will even forgive me. So just shut up and leave me be.”

 

Jesus stared at him, speechless. Daryl resumed walking, and Jesus waited until he had yards of space before following.

 

While Daryl went inside the cabin, Jesus laid down in the truck bed and stared up through the golden leaves. The sky above waned dark blue and thin clouds scraped against the treetops; several leaves fell to give them more room.

 

“Paul,” Daryl called through the silence. “I found some junk out back, I'm gonna go set some traps.”

 

Jesus did not respond.

 

After a few seconds, Daryl plodded away.

 

Jesus remained in the truck bed for nearly an hour, trying—and failing—not to think. When Daryl returned, he could hear the creak of the porch steps and the squeal of the door opening. Then Daryl walked back outside and soon peered down at Jesus.

 

“I'm moping,” Jesus said.

 

“Mope a little more to the side,” Daryl ordered, waving a hand which held the pack of Kal's last few cigarettes. “I'm coming in.”

 

He leaned against the back of the cab with his legs outstretched.

 

“I'm sorry,” Jesus said. “You were right about everything. I don't have family. I don't have anyone close to me. Those kinds of things never cross my mind.”

 

“It's okay,” Daryl said, “we're all stupid as fuck, sometimes. I could tell you would be, in that department and all.” He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and offered it to Jesus. “Happy New Year.”

 

Jesus accepted and closed his eyes as he inhaled. “I never knew how much I missed smoking,” he said, passing the cigarette back.

 

“I'm glad to help,” Daryl said. “I'd smoke a pack a day, if I could. Lung cancer is the least of my problems.”

 

“Yeah,” Jesus said. He lifted his hand for the cigarette.

 

“Why don't you sit up?” Daryl suggested. “Look me in the eye.”

 

Jesus complied, copying Daryl's position, and met his gaze head-on. It was bare and brutal without any wily hair to hide behind. Daryl was naked now, in every way beside the one Jesus would've preferred—it terrified him.

 

“No more bullshit,” Daryl declared. “No more of your Jesus crap out here. If we're goin' to do this, we have to be honest.” He smoked a bit more. “Next time we see Aaron, I'm telling him he can tell his boy, Eric, the truth. I'm not letting myself fuck that up for them.”

 

Jesus's brows raised. “His boy?”

 

“Boyfriend,” Daryl clarified, “basically husband. They're good men.”

 

Jesus nodded. “Alright. That's' fine. I mean—” He passed a hand over his face. “Do whatever you want. At Hilltop, I have to make the decisions; everyone waits to see what I do. Gregory isn't reliable. I'm not used to having someone with me who's...capable,” he said.

 

“I get that,” Daryl replied. “You get me?” he asked.

 

“I do,” Jesus said.

 

“Okay.” Daryl passed the cigarette. “You can finish that off, I'm sure we'll get some more soon from some Savior assholes.”

 

Daryl stood and brushed his jeans off. Before he climbed down, Jesus called his name. “Hey, Daryl. Thank you.”

 

Daryl paused. “You're welcome,” he said, and left.

 

Jesus finished the cigarette. When he glanced back up at the sky, all the clouds had moved on.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write. It's mostly a lot of buildup to the Good Stuff, which I assure you will commence next chapter. There's only two or three left to go, most likely. 
> 
> Also, in case you didn't notice, I changed my username! I want to build up my presence in fanfic and I use my old handle on other websites. I wanted something independent from my other interests. It's a combination of the words oxeye (as in oxeye daisy) and oxygen. 
> 
> TW for the use of a homophobic slur in the latter half of the chapter (which isn't said by Daryl or Jesus, FYI). Also, Jesus's mention of Barefoot Contessa is inspired by one of my friend's own obsession with Ina Garten. That woman loves herself some lemon zest.

Frost sharpened the forest as temperatures steadily dropped. Jesus’s ears were always cold, unaccustomed as he was to being bald. He couldn’t help but revert to his trademark use of bandanas, until one day Daryl came across a few ski-masks and brought them back to the cabin. They donned the masks like cheap parodies of superhero costumes.

“I feel ridiculous,” Jesus said as they hiked through the trees.

“You’re dead,” Daryl reminded, “it doesn’t matter.”

The two men came upon the lip of a ravine.

“This it?” Jesus asked.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, sizing up the ravine’s depth. He turned to Jesus. “You sure you can pull off your gymnastics shit?”

“Of course.” Jesus peered down the ravine edge. Its wall was too steep to clamber down, but if he jumped with a running start he’d be able to easily tuck and roll. “Here, watch.”

“Goddamn it,” Daryl muttered as Jesus laid down his pistol and knife.

Jesus took a few paces back, then vaulted off the ravine and landed smoothly. He popped up seconds after jumping and saluted Daryl, who glared and turned to watch their surroundings while Jesus collected berries. Poisonous berries. They were blue and rotund, growing beneath the cover of five wide leaves—Virginia creeper. It was Daryl’s idea, of course. Jesus called him Scoutmaster Dixon.

“Heads up, Scoutmaster,” Jesus called, and tossed the drawstring bag of berries at Daryl’s feet. Daryl picked it up, then looked up and down the ravine.

“How’re you getting back up?” he asked, the tone of his voice revealing he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Jesus pulled himself up by exposed tree roots, finding pockets of hard-packed dirt to use as leverage, or digging leverage with the toe of his boot when there was none.

“Like that,” he gasped, flopping down onto the ground beside Daryl. “Give me ten.”

“You got five.” Daryl loosened the drawstring and examined the berries. “You got a shit ton.”

“Yeah.”

“Good job.” Daryl pocketed the bag.

“Phase one: commence,” Jesus said, now that they had their secret weapon for their first launch against the Saviors.

Daryl’s shoulders tensed, and he whirled to the left. “Shut up,” he hissed.

Jesus retrieved his weapons and rose to his feet. He stared at the trees, but saw nothing.

Finally, a doe emerged. Her fur was sleek and chestnut brown, legs gracefully traipsing around underbrush, eyes wide and black.

Jesus relaxed, sighing, but Daryl remained stiff and attentive. Behind the ski-mask, his eyes were bluer and more piercing than ever, zeroed in on the animal. Jesus watched as Daryl brought round the 12-gauge shotgun slung across his torso, rested it on his shoulder, and waited. The doe remained still, her ears flicking in anticipation.

“C’mon, girl,” Daryl muttered, “move.”

The doe tested a few steps; when Daryl didn’t respond, she took off galloping, kicking leaves up behind her.

Daryl lowered the shotgun and watched her disappear.

“One more for the Saviors, huh?” he asked.

“Or one less thing dead,” Jesus said.

Daryl turned to look at him, then started walking. “We might exploit Mother Nature’s bounty, but I sure as hell ain’t ‘bout to waste it,” he said.

“Yes, Scoutmaster,” Jesus said.

“Told you to knock that off.”

“It’s a cool nickname,” Jesus defended. “I wish I had one.”

“Jesus ain’t enough?”

“It lacks a personal touch.”

“How ‘bout Shithead?”

Similar conversation ensued as they hiked back to the cabin. Once they were inside they stripped their coats, gloves, and masks. Daryl leaned his shotgun against the couch; Jesus tucked his pistol into the back of his jeans, and his knife in a front pocket. After eating a rabbit from one of Daryl’s traps for dinner, Daryl sat at the front steps analyzing the trees and smoking, while Jesus stretched before the cast iron stove. A routine had settled between them in the lapses of time when they’d exhausted all plans and research for the day, and there was no purpose in leaving the cabin.

Jesus sat outside with Daryl once he finished stretching. After smoking the last of Kal’s cigarettes, they figured out that a surprising number of fresh walkers still had packs somewhere in their frayed clothes. Neither of them wanted take runs into residential areas; they had enough at the cabin, and the risk of encountering Saviors, or—what they did not want to admit—their own communities was too great for superficial supplies.

Their latest pack had menthol filters, which Jesus was excited about, which Daryl made fun of him for. When he sat down beside the other man, Daryl declined to hand him a new cigarette, simply passing the one he had lit for himself. They were learning to “economize” a lot.

“Happy Hanukah,” Daryl said.

After taking a drag, Jesus asked, “Why didn’t you kill the deer?”

Daryl leaned his head against the door frame. “All that meat’d be a nuisance. We can live off rabbits and squirrels.”

Jesus’s recent scouting had proved there was a group of Savior recruiters within the ravine’s area. “What about the Saviors?” he asked.

“What about ‘em?” Daryl said. He took the cigarette back and sucked in a deep lungful.

“They could be eating venison right now.”

Daryl exhaled. “That deer ain’t part of this.”

“No, it isn’t.” Jesus shifted so his back was supported by the stair railing, and he looked out at the leafless tree branches.

Quiet settled between them. The sound of crinkling paper rang as Daryl unfolded the letter Aaron had left at the creek the previous morning, and he reread it for what Jesus guessed was the five-hundredth time. Jesus had only glanced at it once at the creek.

_Messenger from Hilltop came and told us the news. Rick and Michonne and I went back with him. I never saw Maggie cry, her face was blank and hard. Sasha said that besides the baby she didn’t care about anything or at least talk about anything else. Rick wanted to see the bodies but Gregory said they couldn’t wait to bury them. Rick wanted to know what that meant. That guy named Kal told us they became walkers, had their faces smashed in. Before or after he didn’t know. Rick sat and put his face in his hands. Michonne stayed beside him. The entire time Maggie was watching Gregory. I don’t know what she’s planning. She wouldn’t talk to me. She told me the baby was OK and that I needed to focus on the Saviors._

_Rick and Michonne went to where the walkers were buried, past the gardens. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t make myself._

_You’re dead Daryl. So is Jesus. The Hilltop people are lost without him. Kal’s trying his best but it isn’t much. Everyone at Alexandria believes it. The Saviors have to believe it too. Rick’s playing into Negan’s game. Sometimes I wonder if he would have if you were still with us. The one named Simon came by again for pickup and Rick told him you were found dead. He laughed._

_Eric is pissed at you but understands. He was always more diplomatic than I was._

_Stay alive_

_Aaron_

_Daryl’s_ face twitched between subtle expressions of distress as his eyes followed the words over and over.

“Stop reading that,” Jesus said.

Daryl looked up, frowned. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Jesus took the cigarette, ashed it, and indulged in a drag. “If you’re worried about all that, you’ll just be distracted out here.”

“I can do what I need to just fine,” Daryl said.

Jesus shrugged. “You’ve proved yourself pretty emotional before.”

Daryl held his hand out for the cigarette. When Jesus moved to pass it the ash broke off all the way to the filter and dropped between them.

“Oops,” said Jesus.

Daryl tossed the cigarette butt into the grass. “Man, are you trying to piss me off?”

“Partially. I’m also bored. _Boredom is rage spread thi_ n.”

Daryl stared at him unimpressed.

Jesus had a sudden thought. “Did you ever watch The Dark Knight? You know. With Heath Ledger and Christopher Nolan.”

“No.”

“Well, it’s about Batman. I know it word for word. At the end, the cop, Gordon, has this line. Batman’s on the run, even though he saved Gordon’s kid, who asks why Batman’s running. And Gordon says: ' _We have to chase him_. Because he can take it. He’s a silent guardian, a watchful protector...’”

Jesus raised his eyebrows. Daryl said nothing.

“‘A _dark knight_ ,’” Jesus finished. “He’s the dark knight. That’s why it’s the movie title.”

“Wow.” Daryl nodded. “I see it now.”

Jesus fastened Daryl with a very serious look. “My point is we’re kind of like Batman right now. I mean, right? They have to chase us. Why? Because we can take it. You and me, we’re different than everybody else.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “You got on my case for reading a damn note, and now you’re tryin’ to say we’re Ba _tman_ at the end of the world. Okay.”

“You aren’t listening to what I’m saying,” Jesus said. “We can take this. We can take what the Saviors give us. You took what they did to you. And we can take what our people give us, even. Because we’re bigger than all of this.”

“What are we, then?” Daryl asked. “Where’s that put us?”

Jesus paused. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we’re smaller, simpler.” He pictured the doe at the ravine with a bullet between her eyes. “ _You_ aren’t any better, but you become part of something that is. And not everyone can do that. It’s part of why you’re alone.”

Daryl chewed on Jesus’s monologue, staring out at the trees. Then he clapped his thighs and stood. “I never liked movies,” he said, and walked inside.

* * *

 

Jesus’s spying on the Saviors revealed what he’d already suspected: they were overconfident in their abilities, and never once extended caution to other people, walkers, or even Mother Nature herself. Jesus knew if he planted the berries in the cache of food at the recruiters’ camp they’d eat them without question, so that’s what he did.

The following day he and Daryl checked on their condition, crouched in the bushes. When there was no sign of activity they emerged and found the Saviors laying pale on the ground. Daryl cocked his gun, holding it against their foreheads while he checked their pulses.

“Alive,” he reported, “barely.”

“Shit.” Jesus looked down at the unconscious bodies.

“We could suffocate ‘em,” Daryl said, kneeling beside a burly barrel of a man.

“It’s not like they’ll have a forensic investigation,” Jesus said.

Daryl covered his beefcake’s face with a crumpled blanket. The man did not move. Daryl looked up at Jesus, then clamped his hands over the man’s eyes and nose, pressing his knee against the man’s chest to keep him down. The body convulsed and thrashed briefly.

“That’s it, big boy,” Daryl said, “go to sleep.”

Jesus scanned the other Saviors for movement, but they didn’t stir.

The man underneath Daryl finally stilled, dropping against the ground. Daryl slowly rose.

Jesus watched him carefully. “You good?” he asked.

Daryl stared down at the Savior. “Yeah.” He hacked a wad of spit on the body. “Fuck ‘em all.”

His anger crumbled the last reservations Jesus held, and they asphyxiated each Savior one by one.

“Now that’s what I call murder,” Jesus said once they finished, hands on his hips.

Daryl rummaged in the black SUV parked a distance away.

“Hey, we can’t take anything,” Jesus called.

Daryl shut the door and waved two cartons of cigarettes. “It’s just one for each of us.”

“Oh, Jiminy Christmas,” Jesus exclaimed.

After picking up the empty drawstring bag, Daryl tossed him a pack. “Happy Birthday.”

The hike back to the cabin was jovial, but Jesus’s mind was soon preoccupied in thought. Daryl checked his traps once they returned to the cabin and found two squirrels; he began salting the meat at the kitchenette counter while the cast iron stove flared to warmth. Jesus smoked at the front door, sweat crawling under the fabric of his sweater. The breeze from outside contrasted the warmth inside, making his stomach tighten sickly.

He felt Daryl’s blue eyes on the back of his neck. “You alright, Hey-soos?” Daryl asked.

Jesus snubbed his cigarette and shut the door. “Fine,” he said, walking back to Daryl. “How’re you?”

Daryl touched his abdomen briefly with a bloodied hand. “Fine,” he echoed.

Jesus leaned against the counter. “It smells great in here,” he said, scrunching his nose. “Nice and bloody and gross.”

“Maybe I’ll teach you,” Daryl muttered, resuming his work, “after all this blows over.”

“Sure,” Jesus said. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to skin a squirrel, actually.”

“Shut up.”

“Ever since I was a young boy.”

“You don’t stop talking, I’ll make you,” Daryl threatened.

Jesus slunk away to the couch. “This dynamic we have is adorable. Like Dwight and Jim. Or Tom and Jerry.”

Daryl glared. “I ain’t no rat.”

“You told me to stop talking,” Jesus said over the top of the sofa, “I’m officially done talking. Also, Jerry’s a mouse.”

Daryl cooked the squirrel over the stove with a healthy dose of pepper, then picked up a flank off the pan and offered it to Jesus. It was a weird sensation, mostly because Jesus _knew_ it was squirrel. The meat was grisly and tough. “Melts right on the tongue,” he said, tossing the bone into the pan. “You should have a show. I used to watch Barefoot Contessa marathons.”

“Y’know, I make some good chili,” Daryl said. He sucked juice off of his thumb with an obscene pop. “I swear to God.”

“Squirrel chili?”

“Naw, even better. Possum.”

Jesus frowned.

“I’m kidding, asshole,” Daryl said.

“You made a joke,” Jesus realized. He smiled. “Holy shit, Scoutmaster.”

Daryl shrugged. “I have my moments.”

They sat on the cabin’s stoop after dinner, as customary. The black sky enveloped bare trees surrounding the cabin, and the cold caused white clouds of air to expel between the two men with every breath.

Daryl tossed the last chunks of squirrel fat into the dark grass.

“If other squirrels get to that, it’d be fucked up,” Jesus said. He unzipped his coat. “Wanna see something dope?”

“Depends on what the hell you did that for,” Daryl said, suspicious.

“I mean, you did make me dinner.” Jesus pulled out a handle of Jack. “Unfortunately, we’ll have to substitute with this.”

Daryl took the bottle and turned it in his hands. “Where’d you get it?”

“It’s been stashed inside,” Jesus said. “I guess the old owner never got to finish it.”

“Bottoms up to him, then,” Daryl said, unscrewing the cap. His throat undulated as he took a long drink.

Jesus looked away and faced the cool wind. “Need my damn superhero mask,” he said.

Daryl passed the bottle. “I got a new nickname for you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Batman.”

Jesus huffed, bottle held up to his lips. “That makes you Robin.”

“Fuck that,” Daryl said.

Jesus placed the whiskey beside Daryl’s boot once he took a fiery sip. “You could always be Catwoman.” He thought of Daryl’s eyes and hair and hesitance hiding beneath ferocity, and looked over his shoulder. “You kinda resemble Anne Hathaway.”

Daryl capped the bottle, declining to entertain him, and squinted at the night. “Go to sleep,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

Jesus followed his gaze, landing on where he knew the truck hid behind darkness and tree branches. Its rusted exterior showed between gaps uncovered by leaves, all of them now dead on the ground. “No,” he said, standing, “I’m gonna stay out for a bit. I’ll get rid of the truck.”

Daryl frowned up at him. “What?”

“We don’t use it. It’s from Hilltop. It has to go.”

“It’s late, slick. Leave it till morning.”

“We killed the only Saviors in the area,” Jesus said. “Soon they’ll be all over looking for them.” He walked down the steps. “I’ll do it now, while I can.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. He stared at Jesus for several moments. “Be careful,” was all he finally said before going back inside.

Jesus checked the magazine in his pistol and made sure his knife was sheathed at his hip, when all of a sudden the front door screeched open and Daryl tossed him his ski-mask.

“Here, Batman.”

Jesus caught it swiftly. “Thanks, Robin.”

Daryl lifted a hand in goodbye. “Go fuck yourself.”

* * *

 

The truck tires bounced over exposed tree roots and Jesus felt his heart rate ricochet with the movement before he broke through the forest and pulled onto the road. He tore his ski-mask off, sweating profusely despite the cold, and gripped the wheel white-knuckled with both hands.

It was a long drive east, and Jesus wondered if Daryl would question his actions before he got back, but decided he could always add another lie to his countless stock and spin a story about a mob of walkers.

After bumbling over a line of railroad tracks, Jesus parked opposite of a black Jeep similar to the Saviors’ SUV. The Jeep’s headlights flashed, and Jesus returned the motion. Then the driver slipped out of the car. The sound of his door being slammed shut—echoing down the tracks like a gun shot—made Jesus flinch. He took a breath and forced himself to exit the truck.

“Wow, you look fucked up!”

Jesus scowled. “Not as half as fucked up as you.”

Dwight’s grin flattened. “Why don’t you piss off.” He shook his head and sighed, as if he was extending a copious amount of patience. “So?”

“They’re dead, all of them.” Jesus rooted in his coat for his cigarettes and lit one.

“No shit,” Dwight said, impressed. “How?”

“Poison from some plant. Virginia creeper.” Jesus exhaled. “It was Daryl’s idea.”

“I’ll be damned. I knew he was tough, but I didn’t take him for smart.” Dwight pulled a map from the inside of his jacket and handed it to Jesus. “Here, this’ll do for the next couple of weeks.”

Jesus nodded and took the paper. “Thanks,” he bit out.

“Much obliged,” Dwight replied. “Can I bum a smoke?”

Jesus rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time.”

Dwight scoffed. “You don’t have time? _You_? I’m the one putting my ass on the line, here! I already did enough for you and him. If I have time for a smoke, you sure as shit do. All I want is one cigarette. Be thankful I’m not making you suck my cock.”

“I’d give you a blowjob right now if it meant you’d shut up,” Jesus said, passing a cigarette and his lighter.

Dwight cupped his hand around the flame. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked after a drag. “Too bad I’m not a fag too, huh? Even if I was, you’re ugly as shit now.”

Jesus shrugged. “You get on your knees for Negan just fine.”

Dwight took a menacing step forward. “Shut the hell up, _Paul_.” He huffed, glanced away. “I’m gonna kill Negan with his fucking bat, then set him and it on fire.”

“Okay,” Jesus said, sick of Dwight’s fantasies of vengeance. “Can I go, now?”

“I guess,” Dwight said. He narrowed his eyes. “Keep up your end of the operation, alright?”

“Don’t worry your little raisin head,” Jesus said and put out his cigarette.

“Go fuck yourself,” Dwight said. Jesus’s chest tightened at the echo of Daryl’s words. He looked at his boots as Dwight turned away, unable to see him don Daryl’s vest while illuminated by the headlights like some farce angel.

* * *

 

After the long trek back on foot, Daryl opened the cabin’s door before Jesus even took a step onto the porch.

“Took you long enough,” he said, gaze skirting up and down Jesus’s front.

Jesus breezed past him, unable to handle his concern. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

Daryl shut the door soft but it still grated against Jesus’s ears. He dropped his coat onto the floor and scrubbed his face.

“Your mask,” Daryl said, “it’s gone.”

Jesus blinked. “Oh.” He must’ve left it in the truck, which he’d parked a couple miles down the road. “I...”

Daryl padded toward him. “You okay, Batman?” he asked in a husky whisper that seemed to diffuse through the air, onto Jesus’s skin.

“Yeah,” Jesus lied, sitting down on his side of the couch.

Daryl touched his shoulder. “Paul...”

“No bullshit,” Jesus said, “I know.”

“Then cut the crap.” Daryl sat next to him.

Jesus stared at the ceiling, trying to sort his thoughts into a sequence Daryl would believe. “I can’t do this right now,” he eventually confessed, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Daryl turned his head, barely visible in the dark. “Let’s trade, then,” he said. “I’ll go first. I’m glad you took me away.”

Jesus frowned. “I told you, I couldn’t _not_ —”

“From Hilltop, I mean. I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to be at Alexandria, neither.”

“Oh.” Jesus turned to meet Daryl’s gaze, but Daryl had looked off to the side.

“I barely remember anything from that day,” he said, “especially after I passed out. I thought she was a dream.” Jesus didn’t have to ask whom Daryl meant. “If I see at her now, I’ll just feel it all over again. I will if I see any of them.”

Jesus’s stomach churned at Daryl’s honesty and the knowledge that he had none to give back in turn. “It wasn’t your fault,” he told Daryl hoarsely, and thought of Dwight’s rage, “it’s Negan’s. All of it.”

Daryl didn’t respond. Jesus stared until the man looked at him.

“Maggie was so worried about you,” Jesus assured. “Her and Sasha both. They were about to knock Gregory on his ass and carry you to Alexandria themselves.”

“Sounds about right,” Daryl said. A few heavy seconds of silence then ensued. “There’ll be no coming back from this, though. God.”

“I think everyone would rather be pissed at you alive than mourn you dead.”

Daryl huffed.

“I mean it,” Jesus insisted. He shifted closer. “Your people can be scary as shit, but it’s a sight for sore eyes seeing you. It’s obvious how much you care about one another; things like that don’t exist much anymore. You shouldn’t run away from it.”

“Alright,” Daryl sighed, “enough. It’s your turn.”

Jesus tensed. “Fine. Psychoanalyze away.”

Daryl appraised him. Only a few inches apart, it seemed like Jesus could physically feel those electric blue eyes bear into him.

“What’s got you wanting to be so alone?” Daryl asked.

Jesus frowned, the nature of the question unexpected. “It’s easy, I guess,” he admitted. “People kept looking up to me, relying on me, and I lost so many... Once I got to Hilltop, I had it figured out. I could help them and be what they needed and not lose my mind. I just had to stay away, let them think of me how they wanted.” He paused. “I built this facade, and anything that didn’t build it up wasn’t important anymore.”

Daryl laid down against the mattress. Jesus figured he was in this next part of the conversation for the long haul, and copied Daryl’s position.

“You like movies,” Daryl said, out of nowhere. “What else?”

“I’m not doing this,” Jesus said flatly.

“Why? You think I’m like them?” Daryl lifted himself up on his elbow so that he leaned over Jesus. “You think I’m going anywhere sometime soon?”

“No,” Jesus said.

“You’re a goddamn compulsive liar, Paul,” Daryl snapped. “Right now, I’m all you got.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t want you to.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “You’ve never met anybody on par with you, huh? Before or after D-Day, I bet.”

“Why the hell does it matter to you?” Jesus demanded.

“You ain’t special, Paul,” Daryl said. “You ain’t the only one.”

“So what?” Jesus asked. “You think you know how I feel, and we’re supposed to be friends? Even after everything we’ve done and decided to do?”

“That’s how it works, you piece of shit. You don’t just enter somebody’s life and tell  _them_  when _they’ve_ had enough.” Daryl dropped back down onto the mattress. “You know, I used to think the same. I just did what I needed and fucked off. Eventually, though, I realized I was just being a coward. That’s what you are, Paul. You’re a coward.”

Jesus turned so his back faced Daryl and declined to give him the satisfaction in admitting he was right. Neither man fell asleep for over an hour.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the twist this chapter (did anyone catch the joke Jesus made about Dwight?) and a little emotional interaction between the boys! A note on Daryl's characterization: I've noticed there's a trend in Desus fic wherein Jesus is the catalyst for Daryl's revelations, and I wanted to explore the opposite. I think Daryl has the potential to be emotionally confrontational with Jesus, since they are similar and Jesus tries to one-up him all the time. It'd aggravate Daryl, and he'd want to prove Jesus isn't as collected or cool as he makes himself out to be.
> 
> I have an established relationship one-shot I'm working on that I started to feel better about all the craziness that's been happening in the world and my personal life as of late. It's pretty simple and fluffy with a few good doses of hurt and comfort, I think everyone will like it a lot. 
> 
> Also, how about Sunday's episode? Andy and James were phenomenal, but seeing Daryl so reserved broke my heart, especially when he declined to ask to stay in Alexandria. At least in fanfic he can be badass and heal. I can't wait to see Jesus next week, I'm starting to go through withdrawals. 
> 
> Thanks for reading ♥


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a break from writing this fic for a few days, and then today I was struck with inspiration all of a sudden, and I am now posting it at 11 PM, lol. Sorry if there's any overlooked mistakes... 
> 
> This chapter was meant to be longer, but I think it's better as is. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. ♥
> 
> PS -- I made a tumblr! http://indesusnamewepray.tumblr.com/

Saviors began combing the forest with higher frequency, now on the defensive according to Dwight’s reports, while Hilltop, Alexandria, and the Kingdom prepared for war as told by Kal and Aaron. As stakes rose Daryl and Jesus worked in an impersonal and pragmatic fashion, the distance between them growing. Either man was easily irritable with the other; their conversations were short and businesslike, bereft of playful banter or friendliness. Jesus tried to convince himself it was for the best, but could not ignore the hurt and absence he felt at Daryl’s cold shoulder.

Daryl still caught game for them both, but dropped food onto Jesus’s lap and walked away before Jesus could edge in a cautionary thanks. At night Daryl laid as far from Jesus as he could manage; Jesus felt the animosity across the mattress, palpable as the cold air. He slept less and smoked more, spending the dark hours sitting on the cabin’s stoop watching the black treeline which stared back at him motionlessly, only to be greeted with Daryl’s own silence at dawn.

Jesus found solace in solitary excursions of espionage. He practiced heightening his senses and quieting his mind, observing the ground before every step, scanning his surroundings before changing direction. The forest unfurled with time, and Jesus started noticing hardy shrubs take place of wildflowers, frost percolate on fallen leaves and creek banks, and animals busily twist around tree trunks and branches. Instead of relying on Dwight’s anotated maps, he translated the flat image into memorized features and landmarks which he used to measure his distance from the cabin and ever-encroaching east.

On one cold noon he traveled north of the creek and came across a small camp of four persons. He cataloged them as _non-affiliated survivors_ , before registering that the group merely consisted of two teenagers, a hardened woman, and a young boy. They passed a can of vegetables heated over a small fire while Jesus watched out of sight.

His eyes followed the smoke upward and he thought it might attract any passing Saviors. Then Jesus noticed the young boy kept wiping his nose on his jacket. The woman patted his back.

Hilltop had food. Hilltop had medicine. Hilltop had warmth and shelter.

Jesus was about to step forward, but froze. How could he direct them there if he was supposedly dead? What if they described him in a way that would tip off Gregory—or, more likely, Maggie and Sasha?

The boy coughed. One of the teenagers handed him a canteen of water.

It occurred to Jesus this might also be a trap, purposely set up to lure him into the Saviors’ hands. Of course they would use children and a woman as bait. If he showed himself, they could lead him to a waiting vehicle.  
Or maybe the Saviors were already standing by, waiting for someone to approach the group. Jesus looked around himself, wondering where they’d hide. In the trees. Atop a bluff to the left.

He retrieved his pistol and nearly clicked the safety off when the young boy spoke.

“I’m cold,” he said.

His voice sounded so small and miserable Jesus immediately abashed himself and left them to fend on their own.

He replayed the moment on his walk back. How could he have resorted to such brutish measures? He who was once a negotiator, a leader, someone to rely on? He felt dangerous and unhinged.

Before returning to the cabin, he checked the creek. Beneath a large stone at the base of a wide tree was where they cached correspondence between Kal and Aaron. He picked up the rock, procured a folded piece of paper, and sat down at the creek bank to read it.

Jesus did not recognize the rough chicken scratch scrawl, until he realized with shock it was Daryl who wrote the letter.

_Aaron — Ricks the bravest man I know but he thinks too much is his responsibility. Hell come around if Michonnes already got a group ready. If Eric wants to help quit trying to stop him and just make sure he knows what he needs to. We need everyone in this. I dont know about the Ezekiel guy, but Carol can take care of him. Im glad you got to see Maggie and shes ok. Ill tell Jesus Hilltop is doing ok too. I know what you said but I still havent talked to him. Weve taken out three more groups. The colds making it hard to find anything so were suffocating them at night. I dont know how Jesus finds them so easy. Some put up a fight but we havent left anything noticeable. Stay sharp_

Jesus put the note back under the rock then returned to the cabin. Daryl was nowhere to be found. Jesus washed with a bucket of soapy water, then redressed and sat before the cast iron stove. He heard Daryl tramping up the steps soon after, and the door swung open.

Daryl stopped, holding a skinned, thin rabbit by the hind legs. “You’re back early,” he said. “Something happen?”

“No,” Jesus said.

Daryl laid the rabbit out on the kitchenette counter, glaring down at its wiry frame. “You said I wasn’t observant about people. But I’m not stupid. I know when you lie.”

Jesus rose from the floor and stood at the opposite side of the counter. “Why would you care if I was?” he asked.

Daryl unsheathed his knife and began cutting the rabbit. “Ask myself that, too, sometimes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.”

“I never said that.” Daryl fixed his eyes on Jesus. “Find any Saviors?”

“No.”

Daryl set his knife down. “Anybody else?”

Jesus paused. “No.”

“Damn it, Paul.” Daryl slapped a pan down and scooped the meat into it, then went to the stove.

Jesus watched from the counter, something hard and cold balling in his chest.

“Not too long after the start, we found Maggie’s family farm,” Daryl said, setting the pan atop the stove. He sat down on the floor afterward and stared at his boots. “Me, Rick, Carol, Glenn...others. Stayed for awhile. Weeks. The entire time I kept to myself. Slept alone, ate alone. Then we had to make some choices. Do things we didn’t want to do. And I made some choices and did some things so nobody else would have that weight.”

Jesus took a deep breath and sat opposite of Daryl, his back to the couch. Daryl glanced up at him, then back down.

“We lost people. A lot of people. Winter came. Rick started asking me about things. He needed help. I’d never done anything like it in my life. But these were new times, and what needed to be done was done. All I could think was this damn cop is gonna be a hoity-toity pain in my ass, but soon I could see he was a good man. And I guess he saw something in me. We were a team. But that only goes so far... We settled down again and it was less about surviving, and I would’ve just gone back to my old ways. But Rick...”

Daryl shook his head.

“Rick wouldn’t let up. By now none of ‘em would. I figured they liked me ‘cause I put food on the table. Even if it was just squirrel. But this was different. They saw me as a friend. Family.” Daryl met Jesus’s gaze. “You see, Hey-soos, people can’t just work together and have that be that. They become friends, family, fucking acquaintances, even. If they don’t, the whole system is busted.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jesus asked.

Daryl shrugged. “I told you a long time ago not to give me bullshit. Here you are trying to hand feed it. You know Carol?”

Jesus nodded. When Aaron informed that she was safe at the Kingdom—and that he’d told her of Daryl’s false fate—Daryl was bitterly relieved.

“She spent forever trying to get me to talk. I wouldn’t budge, but she never gave in.” Daryl flipped the meat over in the pan, then continued. “When I was locked up, I had time to think. I wasn’t gonna back down to them, then, or else what someone did for me would’ve meant nothing. I’m not backing down to anything, now. And for Carol’s sake, not to you, either.”

Daryl fell quiet as the rabbit finished cooking. Once it was done, he handed a piece to Jesus. They ate in silence: Jesus staring at the stove, and Daryl watching him.

Jesus wiped his hands on his pants when he was done. “There was a camp,” he said. “A woman, two older kids, and a little boy. They were in bad shape. But I thought they might be a trap. If I helped them, they’d take me to the Saviors. Then I thought the Saviors were already there. Waiting. Or knew where I was already.”

“And?” Daryl prompted.

“I took out my gun.” Jesus’s voice shook. “I wanted to shoot them. I didn’t want to take any chances. I was about to kill them. But the boy said he was cold, and he sounded so young.”

“So what’d you do?”

“I left.”

“Okay.”

Jesus stared at him. “What? That’s it?”

“Not much else to say.” Daryl crossed his arms. “You want me to tell you if you were right or wrong? I ain’t your damn conscience.”

“They were normal people,” Jesus said. “He was a child. I could have killed them.”

“Shit happens. More often than not nowadays.”

“So? You lecture me, and there’s no absolution?”

Daryl frowned. “Cool it, slick.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Jesus said. “I don’t know why I’m doing any of this. I don’t know why I’m here with you.”

“Remember what matters,” Daryl said.

“What matters to you?” Jesus asked.

“Keeping my people safe.”

“I’m the same, I guess.”

Daryl scoffed. “Playing protector don’t even come close. It doesn’t count.”

Jesus knew he was somewhat right. “I don’t know, then.”

“There’s always something. I pray to God you find out what it is.”

At that, Daryl left to smoke outside. Jesus did not join him.

* * *

 

There was only one scheduled group left on Dwight’s map. Jesus scouted the area for a few days to make sure Daryl did not suspect his methods, and to give himself time to cool down. Once he was ready, they trekked to the spot at dusk, arriving under the black cover of night.

Jesus slipped out of the brush toward the Savior on watch. Just as the woman turned, he chopped an artery in her neck and she crumpled to the ground. Daryl crept out from behind him as he clamped his hands over her eyes, mouth, and nose.

Footsteps echoed toward them before they finished. Knelt beside the corpse of a woman, Daryl whipped to Jesus, who stared in the direction of the sound, hand on the hilt of his knife.

A man ambled out of the trees, rifle slung over his torso, hands held up. “Don’t worry, guys, it’s just me—” He froze at the sight of Daryl and Jesus. “What the fuck is this?”

Before the man could reach for his gun or Daryl could react, Jesus chucked his knife. It whizzed through the air and lodged in the man’s shoulder, forcing him to his knees. He shouted, clutching at the blood spurting from his shoulder.

“What the hell, Paul?” Daryl yelled.

“I never saw him before!” Jesus said, ducking as the man fired a wild shot.

Daryl laid flat over the body below him. “Shut him up!”

“I’m trying!” Jesus said. He rolled behind the man and grabbed him by the neck, digging the knife into his shoulder at the same time.

The man let out a vicious screech.

“This is a shit fest,” Daryl said, hurrying forward. He wrested the rifle from the man’s hands, tore the knife out of his shoulder, and slit his throat. Blood sprayed from his neck across Daryl and Jesus both before he slumped to the ground.

The two men panted for a moment, staring at the body.

“Well, fuck,” Daryl said.

Jesus looked down. “There’s blood everywhere.”

“What’re we gonna do, genius?” Daryl asked. “You’re the man with the plan.”

Jesus dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “We take the body somewhere. The ravine,” he remembered. “We’ll leave it there.”

Daryl gestured widely. “What about this shit?”

“Give me a second!” Jesus demanded.

They both blanched at the familiar sound of an incoming hoard of walkers attracted by the noise and blood.

“We have to go now,” Daryl said, bending down to pick up the body. He cried out as he began to lift and gripped his side. When he pushed aside his unzipped coat Jesus saw spots of red bleed through his shirt.

“I’ll get it,” Jesus said and heaved the body over his shoulder. “Grab the gun and stop that bleeding or they’ll follow us.”

Daryl swore but did as told, shedding his coat. He tied something tight around his waist, then picked up the rifle and checked the magazine. “Not much here.”

“It’ll do,” Jesus said, jogging as fast as he could into the cover of the trees. Daryl followed behind as walkers spilled into the camp and tore into the still-warm bodies. Some walkers, however, followed their scent into the trees, and other stragglers soon joined.

Daryl picked off a few walkers, but they were covered in blood and toting a bloodier corpse. “We aren’t gonna throw them off,” he said. “We need to go to the creek.”

Jesus gasped in air. “What? We—can’t—make—that!”

“That’ll be a yes,” Daryl said and wrenched Jesus in the opposite direction. Daryl pushed him forward, catching him by the shoulder whenever he stumbled, and continued firing rounds into the growing hoard. Jesus’s entire body burned as sweat poured down into his layers of clothes and every breath set his lungs aflame. If not for Daryl’s presence, he would’ve collapsed long ago.

Finally they broke into familiar land and ran into the creek. Jesus dropped the corpse and threw off his outer layers, leaving him only in sopping jeans and a t-shirt, Daryl looking the same. Walkers piled at the far creek bank, floundering in the water on top of one another. Jesus leaned against Daryl’s non-bleeding side to catch his breath and felt Daryl’s arm wrap around his waist.

They said nothing for a long time, until Daryl muttered, “We could leave him here.”

Jesus looked at the corpse. “No. We’re too close to the camp.”

“He’ll blend right in with his buddies.” Daryl nodded at the walkers.

“Daryl, no.” Jesus pulled away. “We need to do this right.”

Daryl’s arm dropped against his own side. “Do it right?” he asked. “You already fucked it all up!”

Jesus picked up the corpse once more, even though his entire body protested. “Then I’ll do this by myself.”

Daryl glanced at the walkers across the creek, then picked up the rifle where it had fallen into the shallow water. “Let’s go.”

The walk felt like it took hours. Jesus refused to let Daryl help, in fear of his injury worsening once they checked and saw stitches had popped. When they finally got to the ravine Jesus was absolutely wheezing. He dropped the body onto the ground, then pushed it over the edge.

Jesus took a matchbox from his pocket and dug past the wet matches to find dry ones.

“Aw, hell,” Daryl said.

“Shut up.” Jesus experimentally lit a dry match. When it caught fire, he tossed it away and jumped down into the ravine. He cut the body’s wet clothes away with his knife, but before he could try to light another match the body lurched to life.

“Daryl!” Jesus yelled. He dropped the matchbox and scrambled for his knife.

“Paul?” Daryl appeared over the edge of the ravine with the rifle at the ready.

The walker thrashed, knocking Jesus down. A gun shot echoed through the ravine as the bullet zipped through the air, into the walker’s head, and grazed Jesus’s hip.

Jesus yelped and tried bucking the walker off, pain flaring up his side as adrenaline pounded through his veins. He heard Daryl shouting his name, then felt rocks and dirt shower over him as the other man clambered down the ravine’s wall.

“Paul,” Daryl gasped. He pushed the walker off and pulled Jesus into his lap, then raked Jesus’s shirt up to inspect the wound. “’S not bad. Oh, fucking hell.” Daryl pressed the fabric of Jesus’s shirt against the wound.

Jesus blinked, beginning to regain himself. “Sorry,” he said.

“I thought you got bit, asshole.” Daryl squeezed his hip. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Ow! Okay. Okay.” Jesus closed his eyes.

“Hey.” Daryl patted his cheek. “Hey, Batman. Come on.”

“I’m fine.” Jesus turned into Daryl’s torso. “Give me ten.”

“You got five.” Daryl leaned back against the ravine. “You’re a lunatic,” he panted. “You’re a moron.”

“Are we still friends?” Jesus asked.

“Yes. Of course. I’ll tell Rick. You’ll be my new best friend.”

“Before or after I kiss your ass?”

“I hate you,” Daryl said, running his hand up and down Jesus’s arm. “I swear to Christ, I hate you.” 

* * *

 

After finally burning the corpse they returned to the cabin sore and tired, dropping onto the couch as the sky began to lighten from black to purple like a healing bruise.

They laid there for a long time, simply breathing.

“I want a bath,” Jesus said after awhile. “I want to use an entire bottle of soap.”

“I’ll go outside,” Daryl said.

Jesus held his wrist. “You don’t have to.”

Daryl stared at Jesus’s hand. “Okay.”

Jesus filled the bucket of water at the rain barrel, stripped and washed behind the kitchenette counter, hissing as the soap contacted the graze wound, then redressed and bandaged himself. He sat back on the couch and Daryl looked away from where he had been resolutely staring at the wall.

“Can I see?” Jesus asked, touching Daryl’s side.

Daryl rolled the shirt up himself. Only the top two stitches popped, but the skin around the others was pink and inflamed. “They need taken out anyway,” Jesus said, and obtained scissors from the kit he’d been given by Alex what felt like months ago.

Daryl laid back down once he was finished. Jesus laid next to him, their shoulders touching.

“I like movies,” Jesus said to the ceiling. “I like reading. I don’t care what it is, but I love poetry. I learned karate as a kid, judo as an adult. I came out when I was seventeen. I was going to be an English major, but dropped out halfway through my first semester of college. I was in MMA. My favorite food is pizza. Or was pizza. My favorite color is blue...”

Jesus trailed off and turned to Daryl. “Is that enough for now?”

Daryl shrugged. “I reckon.”

“Your turn,” Jesus said.

Daryl sighed. “I don’t like movies. I don’t read. I lived in Georgia my entire life. Learned how to hunt and track and all as a kid. Never even thought about college. Ran around with my brother and his tweaker friends. I guess my favorite food is steak.” He paused. “Favorite color is green.”

“Is that why you wanted the cow?”

“What?”

Jesus grinned. “The first time you came to Hilltop. You wanted a cow.”

Daryl blinked. Then he laughed, long and hard, and Jesus joined him.

Quieting, Jesus sat up. “Now that we know everything there is to know about each other, do you want to smoke?”

“Fuck yes,” Daryl said.

They sat on the front steps side by side, economizing on a cigarette. Instead of looking at the trees, Jesus watched Daryl, the way his lips thinned around the cigarette, and Daryl watched him back.

Daryl passed the cigarette, hand lingering against Jesus’s. Jesus held the cigarette behind him and touched Daryl’s knee. “Stop me if you want,” he whispered, and leaned in. Daryl did not stop him, blue eyes wavering nervously as Jesus waited—and then kissed him close-lipped.

Daryl made a low sound in his throat, hands hovering around Jesus’s sides. Jesus pulled away, directed Daryl’s arms to his waist, then kissed Daryl again. This time Daryl’s eyes fell shut and he tentatively kissed back, thumbs digging into Jesus’s sides.

Jesus flicked the cigarette away and cupped Daryl’s jaw. Daryl tasted smokey and smelled disgusting, but Jesus pressed closer anyway, nudging Daryl’s knees apart so their chests could slot together.

“You’re pretty hot, for an ugly Humpty Dumpty,” Jesus said, his forehead resting against Daryl’s.

Daryl breathed for a second, his lips bright red. “Yeah?”

Jesus smiled. “Yeah.”

Daryl tugged him back, but Jesus pressed a hand against Daryl’s chest.

“Do you want to slow down?” he asked.

“No.” Daryl glanced away, inhaled, and looked back. “Fuck that. Fuck waiting.”

Jesus stroked his chest. “Okay.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” Daryl said.

“I know,” Jesus said, “but it’s okay now.”

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “It is.”

They went back inside. Jesus stoked the stove, and Daryl stood beside the couch awkwardly.

“We should go to bed,” Jesus said, stretching. “We can talk tomorrow.”

Daryl snorted. “Talk, yeah.”

Jesus laid down on the couch and lifted an arm. Daryl grumbled a bit but positioned himself so his back pressed against Jesus’s chest. They slept soundly, for the first time in what either man could remember.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to finally update! I've been busy, and this chapter was hard to write. It's shorter than the others, but denser. The last few chapters will probably be the same. 
> 
> There is a short sex scene between the phrases “Let’s stop talking,” and "As Jesus’s head cleared his chest grew heavy" if you wanna skip that part. 
> 
> I added the Robert Frost poem because it's my favorite poem of his, and I think it fits what Jesus is going through so nicely. 
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me! 
> 
> PS--The [Desus Writing Group](http://desuswritinggroup.createaforum.com/index.php) is ready to roll! Our first event is a [Holiday Bingo](http://desuswritinggroup.createaforum.com/official-challenges/dwg-holiday-bingo/).

Jesus awoke with Daryl’s weight against his side, the other man’s head cushioned against his chest. Fuzzy hairs grew across Daryl’s scalp, testament to how much time had passed—which really wasn’t much at all, but to Jesus it felt like eons.

Daryl moved, breaking Jesus’s thoughts.

“Hey,” Jesus said.

Daryl grunted and lifted his head. “Hey.”

“So.”

“So?” Daryl’s brow rose. “I have to take a piss.”

Jesus rolled out from under him, thankful for an excuse to alleviate the silence. “Stop trying to woo me.”

“I ain’t gonna tarnish your innocence, don’t worry.” Daryl rose from the couch, joints popping.

“My innocence?” Jesus asked.

“Yeah.” Daryl turned. “I got how many years on you?”

“I’m thirty- _two_ ,” Jesus said. “Approximately.”

“Well I’m _approximately_ forty-six.” Daryl shot Jesus a glance as he followed him to the front door. “I can handle this on my own, thanks.”

“I can’t keep my eyes off you,” Jesus admitted.

“You can manage for a couple seconds.”

Daryl opened the door and headed into the trees; Jesus stood on the steps to wait and stared out over the forest. Wispy clouds streaked across the sky, congregating further away where they thickened darkly.

Jesus frowned and peered at the sight—then blanched. “Daryl!” he called.

He heard Daryl curse and crash through the underbrush before jogging back to the cabin. “What?”

Jesus pointed. “Look. Smoke.”

Daryl followed his gaze. “Shit.”

“It’s Hilltop.”

Daryl stared at him. “You going?”

“I...” Jesus looked away from the black plumes and instead focused on Daryl. “They can’t get to you again.”

“We don’t have to get that close.” Daryl lowered his voice and stepped toward Jesus. “Back-to-back, we’ll just take a look.”

Anchored by Daryl’s blue eyes, Jesus nodded. “Let’s go.”

Dressed and armed, they carefully tread to Hilltop. Daryl took point and Jesus matched him step for step, equally undetectable. They paused a couple miles out from the colony at the sound of a vehicle rumbling toward them. Hidden behind the trees, the two men watched a trio of black trucks barrel past.

“Do you think that’s all of ‘em?” Daryl asked.

“I don’t know,” Jesus said, glancing in the direction of Hilltop.

“Let’s find out,” Daryl said and continued onward.

The sky became swamped with smoke as they neared. Fires blazed behind the walls and walkers poured into the empty gates. Daryl barred Jesus’s chest with his arm before Jesus could instinctively bolt toward his home.

“We had our look,” Daryl said.

“We can’t just leave them!” Jesus protested.

“There ain’t no more Saviors, and the rest can take care of themselves. Especially with Maggie and Sasha.”

“But—”

“Come on!” Daryl pushed Jesus ahead of him. “You start walking or we do this all day.”

Jesus scowled. “Who do you think you are? You can’t stop me!”

Daryl spread his arms out. “Have at it, Hey-soos.”

Jesus glowered for a moment, then whirled around and began walking. He kicked at random stones to keep from letting his anger out on Daryl. But as time wore on, his frustrations only increased.

Once they reached the cabin’s grounds Daryl began checking his traps.

“I’m gonna go punch a tree,” Jesus said, and stalked off before Daryl could reply.

After he found a sturdy trunk that did not give after a few trial kicks, Jesus shucked off his coat and weapons and struck the tree over and over with his bare fists. Dried leaves rained down as the skin on his knuckles split and bled. He stopped only to look back at the smoke emanating from Hilltop, and redoubled his exertions after.

Soon his hands shook with tremors and blood dripped down his fingers; sweat dampened his skin, making him shiver in the cold air. He rested his forehead above the twin smears of blood on the tree trunk and recollected his breath.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he turned around to see Daryl approaching with a hunk of rabbit meat in his hand and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“How long have I been out here?” Jesus asked.

Daryl shrugged. “Awhile.” He leaned against a neighboring tree and nodded at the blood Jesus had shed. “Tree win?”

Jesus flexed his aching hands. “What?”

“Tree ain’t bleeding. You are.”

Jesus stared at the bloodied bark. “I guess.”

“Every damn one I’ve fought kicked my ass.” Daryl held out the rabbit meat. “Broke my hand once.”

Jesus took the food. “When?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Daryl plucked the cigarette out of his mouth. “I was fifteen. Maybe.”

Jesus grunted, chewing.

Daryl pushed off the tree. “Let me see,” he said.

Jesus lifted his unoccupied hand. “I’m fine.”

“Thank god one of us is a good shot,” Daryl said, inspecting Jesus’s hand in both of his own.

“I’m not awful.”

“You will be with these.” Daryl squeezed Jesus’s hand to prove his point.

“Ow, fuck—” Jesus snatched his hand away. “Okay.”

“Finish eating,” Daryl said, and lit his cigarette. “We’ll economize.”

They sat at the base of the tree and traded the cigarette back and forth. Jesus’s hands throbbed and swelled; it was hard to hold the cigarette after awhile.

He passed it back to Daryl, who took a drag then proffered it in the air between them. Jesus nodded, and Daryl held it up to his mouth. Jesus craned his neck to get his lips around the filter and hollowed his cheeks.

Daryl took the cigarette away. “You feel any better?”

Jesus exhaled smoke. “No.”

“We’ll check on ‘em tomorrow.”

“That’s not the point.” Jesus stared at his knuckles. “We’ve been doing all this for nothing.”

“Shit, we weren’t ever gonna take them all out. I could’ve told you that.”

“How long do you think it’ll take until they find the camp?”

Daryl shrugged. “Maybe they’ll blame it on the walkers.”

“We need to go back,” Jesus said. “Cover our tracks.”

“Buncha burnt corpses is less obvious, huh? You’re the one who said we gotta leave a story.”

Jesus scrubbed his face. “Hell if I know anymore.”

Daryl stood. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jesus frowned, still sitting. “How can you be so calm about this? They _torched_ Hilltop!”

Daryl stared down at him. “You don’t know half the shit we’ve been through. Maggie and Sasha will take care of it.”

“And what do we do?” Jesus demanded.

“Make a new plan. Don’t punch trees like an idiot.”

Jesus rose. “Fine, I get it.”

Daryl clapped his shoulder. “We’ll deal with this.”

Jesus could not tell him that Dwight’s information had run out. He nodded instead. “Yeah.”

Daryl’s hand slid down from his shoulder to his wrist. “I mean it,” Daryl said, and tugged Jesus forward to lead him back to the cabin.

Jesus leaned against the kitchenette counter while Daryl procured a rag and soaked it in a basin of water.

“Lemme see,” Daryl beckoned, his voice soft and gruff.

Jesus lifted his hands and Daryl began pressing the rag against his knuckles.

“Ow!”

Daryl looked up, pressing harder. “That hurt?”

“Yes!”

“Huh.”

He dabbed antibiotic ointment onto each knuckle, then bandaged both hands.

“How ‘bout now?” he asked.

Jesus stared at him. “Better.”

“Good.”

“Daryl—”

The other man stepped back and tossed the wet rag into the sink; it smacked loudly. “What?”

Jesus paused, regarding him incredulously. “Did you mean what you said? About not waiting?”

Daryl scoffed. “You still got fight in you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then, yeah.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The tension between them snapped—Daryl strode forward as Jesus was already opening his arms, and they ended up toe-to-toe, Jesus’s hands interlocked behind Daryl’s neck. He yanked Daryl down to and pressed their lips together; Daryl responded more actively than before, hands going to Jesus’s hips.

They pulled apart with a gasp, and Jesus’s head swam with all of the lies, fabrications, and unfulfilled promises underneath this newfound fervor. He pressed his forehead against Daryl’s shoulder, eyes wrenched shut.

“Paul.” Daryl goaded him into looking up. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I just...” He faltered under Daryl’s earnest gaze and decided to lie once more. “It’s been awhile.”

“What?”

“I know. It’s hard to believe.”

Daryl snorted. “You think I’ve gotten around either? I don’t care about shit like that.”

Jesus wordlessly kissed him again. He needed this. He could feel his inner resolve crumbling, and Daryl was so strong, so brave, so kind—he’d transfer it all to Jesus, then find a way to forgive him. Hopefully.

“Let’s stop talking,” he suggested, and guided Daryl to the couch.

Daryl sat down, open and accepting as Jesus slid onto his lap, the mattress dipping underneath their combined weight. After a few minutes, Daryl laid on his back, Jesus slotted above him. Jesus grew increasingly frantic as an idea took root in his mind, hands framing Daryl’s face. He knew he was saying goodbye and that he’d have to say it without words, without Daryl even knowing this was an end, not a beginning. He wished he could give that to Daryl, who so deserved it. But his instinct to run, to be solitary, was stronger than any other inclination.

Jesus bore down onto Daryl’s pelvis, causing him to arch up and gasp. Their clothed lengths brushed together, sending suffocating heat up Jesus’s shirt. He took it off and threw it onto the floor. Daryl stared up at him dazedly and palmed his torso with both hands. Jesus paused, his knee bent between Daryl’s leg, inches from his cock.

“Paul...” Daryl swallowed. “Lemme up.”

Jesus moved. Daryl rose and stripped his flannel, then the shirt underneath. He pulled Jesus closer and began fumbling with his jeans. Jesus held onto Daryl’s shoulders and lifted up. Daryl pushed his pants down; they bunched at his knees.

Daryl experimentally gripped him through his underwear. Jesus huffed, tensing, and clutched Daryl tighter. “Stop,” he said, voice tight and fragile.

Daryl snatched his hands away. “What is it?”

Jesus shook his head. “Lay down.”

Daryl did. Jesus kicked off his jeans, then removed Daryl’s. He bent over Daryl’s cock and pulled down his underwear, breath hitching at the heady warmth. Daryl’s hands reached down his back, to the band of his underwear, then further underneath. Jesus gasped, locked arms dropping to his elbows on either side of Daryl’s head. He reached down with one hand to pull out his dick, then fisted Daryl’s as well.

“Fuck,” Daryl bit out, fingernails digging into the flesh of Jesus’s ass.

Jesus tugged them both, together, and shivers shot up his spine. He dropped his head into the space between Daryl’s neck and shoulder, erratically breathing in his smokey scent. Emotion lodged in his throat as he quickened his pace. Daryl’s hands moved up his back again, raking red lines with his nails. Jesus bit his tongue to refrain from confessing something idiotic.

Daryl finished first, releasing a guttural moan, and Jesus followed him soon after. He dropped onto his stomach beside Daryl, panting into the mattress. His knuckles throbbed horribly and he lifted his hand for inspection. Red bled through the bandages; Daryl laughed. They were both sticky with cum and sweat.

Jesus heaved himself up, put his pants back on, and redressed his hand. When he turned back around, Daryl was sitting with his jeans on.

As Jesus’s head cleared his chest grew heavy. He laid down and stared at the ceiling. Daryl faced him on his side.

“’M tired as fuck,” he said. “Sing me to sleep.” It was early evening by now.

Jesus turned to look at him. “My favorite poem is by Robert Frost,” he said.

Daryl grunted. “Yeah? Tell it to me.”

“I don’t remember all of it.”

“Don’t care.”

Jesus sighed. He curled up to Daryl’s warmth and began reciting from his memory, eyes shut.

“’When far away an interrupted cry came over houses from another street, but not to call me back or say good-bye; and further still at an unearthly height, one luminary clock against the sky proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right...”

He opened his eyes and saw Daryl watching him.

“‘I have been one acquainted with the night.’”

“Creepy,” Daryl commented.

“I like it.”

“It’s nice.”

“And creepy?”

“It can be both,” Daryl muttered.

Jesus smiled. “Go to bed.”

Daryl fell asleep quickly. Jesus wondered if it was because of his presence, what transpired between them—not the sex, but everything beside it. He slept fitfully, waking a few times, and cursed himself for burrowing closer to Daryl when he couldn’t will his body back to unconsciousness. Only until he was totally wrapped in Daryl’s scent did he drift to true slumber, and woke up hours later in the dark. He slipped off the mattress and dressed silently, but couldn’t help pressing a kiss to Daryl’s temple before leaving.

The walk to the truck was lengthy. Jesus picked at his hands to keep from thinking, using the pain as a distraction. While driving, his mind switched to the usual laser-focus he imparted on all of his important runs, when he knew what he did meant life or death for others.

He ambled over the train tracks, parked alone, and smoked several cigarettes in wait until headlights shone across from him and a vehicle turned into the lot.

Jesus flashed his lights.

* * *

The cabin’s front door flew open after Jesus emerged from the trees, and Daryl strode toward him emanating fury.

“Where you been?” Daryl demanded. “I was about to go look for your stupid ass!”

Jesus lifted his hands. “I went to look at Hilltop—”

“ _Stop lying_!” Daryl shoved him back. “I’m fucking sick of it, Paul! You tell me the truth right now!”

“I was talking to Dwight!” Jesus confessed.

Daryl froze. “What? Him?”

“How do you think I got you out?” Jesus asked. “We were just lucky? He helped! He’s been helping us this whole time! I’ve been getting the locations of all the Saviors—”

Hot pain exploded across Jesus’s jaw; he stumbled back and stared at Daryl wide-eyed.

Daryl shook his hand out. “You’ve always been a prick. I shoulda known.”

“I didn’t say anything because I knew you wouldn’t help me,” Jesus explained, “but then I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Shut up.”

“You were right. I was a coward. I still am.”

“Shut. Up.”

“There wasn’t any other way—”

“Damn it!” Daryl advanced toward him, halted, and took a step back. “Nevermind. You aren’t worth the time.” He stalked back to the cabin.

Jesus followed. “What are you doing?”

Daryl sent him a withering glare. “Like hell I’ll tell you.” He put on a coat and armed himself, then started throwing supplies into a bag.

“There’s Saviors—”

“I’ve taken ‘em on before.” Daryl shouldered the bag and moved to the front door. “Bye, Jesus.”

Jesus watched him leave, unable to say anything. He continued to stand there even once he was left all alone.

* * *

He ate out of scavenged cans without Daryl there to skin and cook game, folded up the couch and slept on the floor with a gun beside his head. Any clothes or spare supplies were shoved into the pantry. Jesus only utilized what he could carry on his person, and the stack of canned food on the counter.

A few days after Daryl’s leave he went to take out a group of Saviors, but there was no one there; Dwight’s location had been wrong. Jesus scouted the rest of the area, then headed back to the cabin, apprehension prickling at the back of his neck.

The smell of smoke suddenly flooded his senses. Jesus doubled his pace.

Saviors circled the cabin as thick clouds of smoke wafted up into the otherwise clear sky. Windows were blown out by the growing flames, red heat licking up the sides of the building.

Jesus froze at the edge of the trees, shock apprehending any instinct to run.

The Saviors parted to allow a familiar figure to pass.The man stopped in front Jesus. His comrades watched with their guns cocked and lifted at Jesus.

“Kneel,” Dwight commanded.

Jesus grit his teeth and dropped to his knees.

Dwight leaned in close. “Just play along,” he muttered. Then he straightened and pistol-whipped Jesus across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

 


End file.
